Chapter 7

Alex's frown deepened. He ran a hand through his already messy hair.

"Press charges? Maya, be reasonable. It was a party, things got a little out of hand. They're just silly girls."

He looked at her hand again, a strange expression on his face.

"Besides, you're strong. You've always done rough work with your hands, haven't you? In the diner, with your art... A little injury won't stop you."

His words were like a slap.

He was minimizing her pain, her potential loss, linking it to her past, her class.

As if her hands, because they were used to labor, were less valuable.

"Tori is devastated, you know," he continued, his voice taking on a defensive tone.

"Her family is very influential. A police report, a scandal... it would be terrible for her reputation. For her family's business."

He was prioritizing Tori's social comfort, her family's image, over Maya's shattered hand, her shattered future.

The betrayal was so profound, it left her breathless.

"I don't care about Tori's reputation," Maya said, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "I want justice."

Alex sighed, a sound of pure exasperation.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a checkbook and a pen.

"Look, how much will it take to make this go away? Name your price."

The pen scratched across the paper.

He was trying to buy her silence, to put a price on her pain, on her art.

Maya stared at him, disbelief warring with a cold, rising anger.

He didn't understand. He would never understand.

He saw her silence as hesitation, as a negotiation tactic.

"One million? Is that enough? For your medical bills, your... inconvenience."

He wrote the number, his expression impatient.

She remained silent, her gaze fixed on his face.

"Five million, then. That should cover everything. You can go to Paris, study your art, forget all this ever happened."

He ripped the check out, holding it out to her.

Forget? How could she ever forget?

Then, he seemed to remember something. A small, almost cruel smile touched his lips.

"Or how about this?"

He scribbled furiously, then held up another check.

"One hundred million. Remember, Maya? I promised you. When I sold that first big tech stock, back in Brooklyn. I said I'd give you a hundred million. For a house, for your dreams."

His voice was soft, almost a caress.

A twisted fulfillment of a promise made in love, now offered as blood money.

The irony was a bitter pill.

Maya started to laugh, a raw, broken sound that quickly turned into sobs.

Tears streamed down her face, landing on the pristine white check he still held out.

"Yes," she choked out, reaching for the check with her good hand. "I remember."

She took the money, the paper crinkling in her grip.

The Alex from Brooklyn had promised her dreams.

This Alex was paying her to disappear.

It was the same sum, but the meaning was a world apart.

The love was gone. Only the transaction remained.

Alex stopped visiting after that.

His personal assistant, a brisk, efficient young man, came daily.

He brought flowers, expensive chocolates, magazines Maya had no interest in.

"Mr. Sterling sends his regards. He's very busy with a new acquisition."

Busy.

One afternoon, scrolling through her phone, Maya saw Tori's latest social media post.

A picture of her and Alex on a yacht, somewhere sunny and exotic.

Tori was laughing, her arm around Alex's neck. Alex was smiling, looking relaxed, happy.

The caption read: "Escaping the city for a bit! #Blessed #Love"

Busy.

Maya's eyes stung. She closed the app.

A few days later, she received a text message.

Her visa for France was approved. Her flight was confirmed.

A wave of something akin to relief, sharp and bittersweet, washed over her.

It was over.

She could finally leave.

She laughed, then cried, the tears blurring the text on her phone.

No more penthouses. No more society parties. No more Tori. No more Alex.

Freedom.

It had come at a terrible price, but it was hers.

She checked out of the hospital, her arm in a heavy cast, her few belongings in a small bag.

She booked a taxi to the airport, but made one last stop.

The penthouse.

She needed to leave the keys. A final, symbolic act.

She let herself in.

The vast apartment was silent, empty.

Then she heard voices from the master bedroom.

Alex. And Tori.

Tori was directing movers who were carrying in large suitcases.

"Put those in the main closet, please. And be careful with the hat boxes!"

She was moving in.

Of course she was.

Alex came out of the bedroom, saw Maya.

He looked surprised, then uncomfortable.

"Maya. I... I didn't expect you."

He gestured vaguely towards Tori. "Tori's just... organizing a few things."

No need to explain, Maya thought. It was his life, his home.

Tori smiled at Maya, a cat-that-got-the-cream expression.

"We're having a little pre-wedding celebration tonight, Maya. Just a few close friends. You should come!"

Alex looked alarmed. "Tori, I don't think Maya is interested in..."

"Oh, but she must be!" Tori insisted. "It's going to be fabulous."

Maya looked at Alex, at the life he had chosen.

A life of luxury, of power, of cold, calculated alliances.

A life where she had no place.

She smiled, a small, sad smile.

"No, thank you, Tori. I have a flight to catch."

She placed the penthouse keys on the hall table.

She walked to the large photo of her and the Brooklyn Alex, the one she'd looked at so many times.

She gently turned it face down.

Then, she walked out of the penthouse, out of Alex Sterling's life, without a backward glance.

The love that was, had faded like a distant star.

It was time for a new dawn.